


a blue room for two (and a mabari)

by orphanghost



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Banter, M/M, Making Out, Sex Pollen, Trapped, Tropes, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 18:49:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6578239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphanghost/pseuds/orphanghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Alistair and Zevran are trapped in a tiny room full of sex pollen and they just talk and make out a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a blue room for two (and a mabari)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, sorry, this is really rough and draft-like at the moment. I might come back to it later and turn it into actual fic. But for now, I'm just releasing it into the world for anyone who needs this today like I did.

'Wait here, I won't be long,' Elissa says as she approaches the far door of the room.

 _"Won't be long,"_ can mean a lot of things when she scouts ahead, Alistair has learned. Sometimes it can be five minutes and sometimes it can be a guilty five hours if the way forward is particularly long. 

The room they are in, at least, is blessedly empty. It is him and Zevran and the dog: so this is definitely better than the time last fortnight when it was him, Oghren and Morrigan in a tiny cell filled with darkspawn corpses. 

'If you require assistance,' Zevran offers hopefully, but the Warden shakes her head. 

'I'm going to move quickly,' she replies, then smirks. 'Even if you could keep up, I'd prefer not to have to look out for you.' 

Zevran laughs dismissively and shoos her away, wandering back to stand by Alistiar. The elf gets a bit restless on long stints like this, which Alistair can't help but wonder at. Surely part of being an assassin relies on lying in wait for hours, waiting for your moment to strike? 

He might ask later, if they get bored. 

'Go, we've got snacks,' Alistair says. 'We'll be fine.' 

Elissa's lips quirk and she nods, then fades into stealth and disappears from sight. A moment later, the door creaks open. Then it drags heavily closed with a resounding _click_. A few moments after that, Alistair regrets saying that they would be fine. 

In each corner of the narrow room, a pressure plate lifts and hisses, a gas releasing from a valve underneath and drifting across the floor. It casts a low mist of blue-ish smog along the walls in seconds and starts to spread, slowly creeping to fill up the room. Aside from the low hiss of the gas, it happens silently. 

'Ah!' Alistair yelps, jumping toward the centre of the room where the gas is most sparse and pulling the dog with him by the collar. The mabari growls at the smog, the short furs on her neck stiffening. 'Disarm it!' 

Zevran pulls a scrap of fabric from his pocket and wraps it around his mouth and nose before hurrying over to drop down next to one of the release plates. He inspects the trap for a moment before reaching down with deft fingers. He fiddles for a few seconds, swears quietly under his breath, and dashes over to another one of the traps. 

'You didn't disarm it!' Alistair says in alarm. 

Zevran cocks his head as he carefully assesses the second trap. 'If you don't mind saving pointing out the obvious until _after_ we are out of mortal peril, I would be immensely grateful.' 

Alistair closes his eyes. Maker preserve them. 'Should I shout after Elissa?' he asks. 

Zevran takes a moment to respond, reaching into the mechanism and fiddling again, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Alistair can see the frustration writ plainly in his eyes. 'This is…not my specialty,' he says, then sighs. 'Yes, get the Warden. I believe these are a bit beyond my skill level.' 

The blue-grey smog has now covered the whole of the stone floor like morning mist in the cool months of winter. Alistair brings his hand up over his mouth and nose as he rushes over to the far door and pulls it open. 

Or rather, attempts to. 

'It's locked,' he says to Zevran, voice muffled behind his hand. 'Please don't tell me locks aren't your specialty either.' 

The assassin's eyes narrow. 'Not most.’ He stands and walks over to inspect the door carefully. Guiltily, he says, 'Ah, these ones, however...' 

'Great.' Alistair coughs into his hand as some of the smoke begins drift higher in the room. 'Perfect. Shall we try shouting, then?' 

'I see few other options,' Zevran replies, and for a while they both slam their fists against the door and shout for the Warden as Missy howls behind them. Despite the racket, after several minutes it's clear that she has moved too far and the walls of the Deep Roads are too thick for them to be heard. 

Alistair rubs his hands together, sore from pounding at the hard stone wall. 'Is the other door just as locked?' he asks. 

Zevran assesses it for a moment, then nods. He sighs and drops the cloth from his face. 'It does _nothing_ ,' he says with a scowl. 'Well. It seems we are stuck here.' 

Alistair shifts his weight from foot to foot. The good thing at least, he supposes, is that so far he has not felt any particular reaction to the presumably poisonous gas filling up the room. It smells a bit floral, if anything, like a cloying perfume. He might be getting lightheaded, but it's hard to tell if that is from the gas or the shouting. 

'Um. So, how are we going to die?' he asks. 

Zevran sighs and lowers himself to the floor. He crosses his legs and leans back against the wall. 'Hopefully not too unpleasantly,' he muses. 'I am not familiar with this.' He waves his hand through the smog, disrupting its slow, swirling movements. It seems to cling to his hand for a moment, following his movement. Then it disperses again, drifting in gentle spirals up through the air. 'Perhaps we will be compelled into madness and kill one another. Perhaps we shall simply be lulled into a deep, deep sleep from which we shall never wake. I can tell you it is unlikely to be poisonous in the _ack ack help me I am choking to death_ way. We would already know.' 

'Well that's some… good news, I suppose,' Alistair hums. 'Maybe Elissa will get back quickly.' 

'We can but hope, no?' Zevran pats the floor next to him. 'Come. Get comfortable. Why not?' 

Alistair drops down onto the cold stone and beckons to Missy. She moves cautiously over, still growling slightly at the smoke - but it doesn't seem to be affecting her either, so she drops down next to Alistair and rests her head in his lap. He scritches her ears, and she promptly starts to drool. 

'Not a very good trap, is it?' Alistair points out. 'Triggering after you _leave_ the room.' 

'Worked on us, did it not?' Zevran replies. 'Besides, I suspect it is intended for people going in the other direction. In which case it would be quite effective.' 

'True. Maybe the gas has gone off? Lost its effectiveness over time?' 

'A definite possibility.' 

Alistair casts his eyes around the room, looking idly for another way out (he knows that there isn't one) or something he can bash his shield into to get them out (even more unlikely). The minutes pass slowly in silence as they wait, unsure. 

'I spy?' he suggests after a short while. It is worse than having something deliberate to fight or a knowledge of their true danger, waiting like this. His head still feels slightly foggy and he can feel his heart thudding in his chest. Again, he cannot be sure whether it is the gas or just the anxiety of _not knowing_. 

Zevran cocks an eyebrow at him, then grins. 'Very well. I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with W.' 

'Walls,' Alistair answers.

'Hm.' 

'Alright, maybe it wasn't the best suggestion,' he concedes. 'You think of something better.' 

'Games, you mean?' Zevran asks. 'Ah. I know what I would generally do in this situation. I do not think it would be up your alley, however.' 

'You might be right.' 

'We could take bets on what the gas does, I suppose.' 

'Ooh, maybe it gives people the taint. In which case I'm probably safe.' 

Zevran breathes in deeply. 'I am inclined to suspect this taint of yours does not smell as… pleasant as this.' 

'Not the best phrasing, Zev.' Alistair sniffs the air. 'You're not wrong, though. Kinda smells like, uh, a crisp morning in a flower garden or something, don't you think?' 

'Mm. Almost takes the edge of the whole dankness of the Deep Roads.' Zevran bites his lip. 'If it weren't for the probable imminent demise.' 

'Maybe we'll start having hallucinations,' Alistair suggests. 'We might see Andraste or something.' 

Zevran hums. 'Female company would not go amiss.'

'You can't say that about Andraste.' 

'Oh, well, perhaps it is the gas. Perhaps it compels us to speak the truth of whatever is on our minds.'

'You're an incredibly competent fighter and rogue,' Alistair announces and shakes his head. 'Nope, seems like I can still lie.' 

Zevran tilts his head back and laughs, shoving Alistair hard with his shoulder. Then he hisses in a breath as though in pain and draws back, gripping his arm tightly and curling in on himself. 

Alistair looks down in shock. 'Are you okay?' 

'Quite alright,' Zevran grits out through his teeth. 

'Did you dislocate something before? I can help with that.' 

'No, not- I think it is the gas.' Even as he sits up straight again, Zevran's voice continues to sound strained. 'Alistair, are you, ah, experiencing any… symptoms?' 

Alistair thinks for a moment, focusing on his body. He takes a few deep breaths, then shrugs. 'Just feel a bit dizzy, I guess,' he says. 'My hearts going a mile a minute, but. I don't know.' He looks down at the dog, who is still drooling in his lap and breathing perfectly evenly, shifting occasionally on the stone floor. 'Missy seems alright.'

Zevran licks his lips and lets out a long breath, closing his eyes. 

'Are… you sure you're okay?' Alistair asks. He is also feeling warm, he supposes. Slightly feverish, as though the room is no longer chilled with the depth of the stone but instead pleasantly warm, basked in sun. 

Zevran shakes his head. 'Ah, look, I suspect I know what this gas may do - but if it is not affecting you, I believe it is something I can endure alone.' 

'Don't be stupid.' Alistair looks at the elf carefully. He no longer looks like he's in pain. He is just holding himself a little too straight, shifting slightly away from Alistair across the floor. 'What is it doing to you?' 

'What is a delicate way of putting it?' Zevran asks. He gestures with his hands. 'Your sensibilities, my dear friend. They are so precious, so pure. It feels wrong to speak too candidly about it, like speaking in front of a small child.' 

'Oh, shut up,' Alistair replies, rolling his eyes. 'It's never stopped you before.' 

'It is desire,' Zevran says, gesturing to the gas again. 'It- Oh, maker help me, it is making me want to touch you.' He falls back against the wall again, fanning himself with his hand. 'I feel hot all over.' 

'How is that any different to your usual state, Zevran?' 

'Cruel, cruel. You slander my character at such a time as this?' 

'It's not slander! I'm genuinely asking. I mean, are you _sure_ it's the gas?' 

'Believe it or not, I do have self-control. Furthermore, I may be… an open person, in some ways. But I do not spend much of my life at all filled with desire to taste your skin and climb on top of you and take you inside me and-' He cuts himself off, breathing heavily. 'If you believe I do, you flatter yourself, Alistair.' 

'Yes, okay, point taken.' Alistair shifts uncomfortably, pulling at the collar of his shirt under his armour. In sudden frustration, he reaches down to fumble at the fastenings on his breastplate and pulls off the top half of his armour, letting it clatter to the floor. He tugs off his pauldrons too, and Missy jumps up at the loud noises and stalks off to the far wall. 

'Are you teasing me?' Zevran snaps angrily. 

'No! It's hot!' 

'It is not, objectively speaking,' the elf points out. 'In case you don't remember, it was freezing in here a half hour ago.' 

'Yes, well.' Alistair flaps his hands in front of his face to cool himself. He scrubs his hands through the back of his hair, trying to shake the warm, feverish feeling. It is growing with every moment that passes, and he's slowly starting to think that Zevran may not be bullshitting him about the effects of the gas. 'Er. So. Hypothetically,' he starts. 'If you were right...?' 

Zevran shrugs. 'We shall have to wait and see, I suppose. I have no idea what the intended outcome of such a trap would be. Perhaps it would be fun at parties?' 

'Could it -' Alistair pauses, thinking. 'Could it _kill_ us?' 

'From arousal?' 

'Um. Yeah.' 

'I have been very aroused many times in my life and I have not died yet. Perhaps if we were old and very unhealthy.' He reaches out and slaps Alistair on the knee, seemingly without thinking. 'But we are robust young men, no? I think we should be fine.' 

Yeah, Zevran is definitely right about the effects of the gas, Alistair thinks as a wave of desire shoots through him from the elf's brief contact. 'Can you not?' he grits out, feeling blush climbing his neck. 

Zevran glances at him with a surprised look. 'Oh, Alistair. I never would have thought you would like to be slapped around a bit.' He bites his lip, looking curious. 'Or, actually...' 

'It's just the gas,' Alistair insists, thoroughly aware that he actually has no idea if he likes being "slapped around a bit" or not. 

'Perhaps we share some inclinations then, yes? Oh, that would be a nice thing to know about each other, would it not? Make this whole ordeal worthwhile, even.' 

'Please stop,' groans Alistair. 

'Am I wrong?' 

'I don't know.' Slouching more against the wall, Alistair plucks at the cotton of his shirt, pulling it away from his body. He can feel the arousal coiling inside him now, and it's making him feel guilty and uncomfortable, like the nights at the Chantry as a youth when he would spend whole nights like this before finally giving in and touching himself completely silently, terrified of being caught. 

'Of course, my apologies.' Zevran shakes his head, grinning. 'How would you know? You are still… inexperienced, then?' 

'Yes, obviously,' he sighs, resisting the temptation to bang his head against the wall in frustration. 'I know it's a foreign concept to you. Are you _sure_ you can't disarm these bloody traps?' 

'Believe me, I would if I could.' 

'Would you? You seem to be enjoying this right now.' 

'I am looking on the bright side of a bad situation,' he says. 'I am not enjoying this any more than you are. Well. Okay, maybe a little bit more. But hardly at all.' 

Alistair scowls, looking suspiciously at the elf. 'How do I know you didn't just let this happen?' 

'Amazingly, Alistair,' Zevran says dryly, 'I do not have to resort to trickery when I wish to bed someone. I mean. Except when I intend to kill them as well. But any trickery is for the murdering, not the bedding.' 

'Okay, okay.' Groaning again, Alistair gives up and pulls his shirt over his head, discarding it and reaching down to work at the fastenings on the rest of his armour. 'Don't get any ideas,' he announces. 'It's just too hot.' 

'I do hope our lovely Warden returns soon, she will appreciate the view.' 

The cool stone against Alistair's back soothes the feverish feeling somewhat and he sighs in relief as he leans against the wall again, closing his eyes. Zevran doesn't say anything, and so they are both silent for a long few minutes, before Alistair finally cracks an eye open and glances at the elf. 

He would look completely calm, reclining against the wall beside him - if not for the way his knuckles are going white where they clench tightly against the floor. His cheeks are a little flushed and his lip looks bitten, but otherwise he seems okay. 

'Soooooo,' Alistair prompts. Zevran turns his head to look at him, pupils blown wide. 'I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with.… C.' 

Zevran looks around, letting out a breathy laugh. 'Ah… cracks?' 

'Nope.' 

'…Crap Templar?' 

'Hey!'

'No? Well, I give up then.' 

'Cobweb.' 

Zevran looks around. 'Where?' 

'Up there,' says Alistair, pointing to the corner of the room. 

Cocking his head, Zevran squints. 'Oh, yes, I see it.' 

'My turn again, I guess,' Alistair says, but Zevran puts his hand up to stop him before he can think of another object in the completely empty room. 

'Please,' he says. 'This is already a moderately difficult situation. Please do not turn it to torture.' 

'Fine.' 

Taking a shuddering breath, Zevran cards his fingers through his hair. 'I do not suppose we could...?' 

Alistair feels something drop in his stomach, a deep heavy weight of anxiety that offsets the desire coiling inside him. He starts quickly, shaking his head. 'No, no, I-'

'Is there anything you would feel comfortable doing?' Zevran asks quietly. 'I understand if you do not wish to, but I… I just feel like I need to _touch_ , someone. It is growing unbearable, like insects under my skin.' 

'I know.' Alistair swallows, wincing. He feels it too, the crawling need for contact, for connection. 'But I can't. I've never- I don't want, like this.' 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Zevran presses his lips together tightly and nods. 

'Do you want to hold hands?' Alistair asks. He means it as a joke, but it's a poor one because the desire for physical contact is growing so strong that he actually kind of really wants just that link with another person. 

He doesn't get an answer, so he thinks Zevran is just dismissing him entirely as an idiot until a moment later warm, slim fingers link with his. The leather of Zevran's gloves is smooth against his palm and where their skin touches Alistair feels warm. Some of the desperate clawing for contact fades inside him and he sighs. 

'Better?' he asks.

'A little,' Zevran agrees, and shuffles in closer. 'May I?' 

'Yeah,' Alistair says as Zevran leans against him, head resting on his shoulder. 

'Mm. You smell nice,' the elf muses tilting his head slightly to brush his nose against Alistair's skin. 

'Maybe that madness you mentioned is setting in.'

Zevran laughs. 'Perhaps. May I ask, my friend?' 

'Er, ask what?' 

'Several things, I suppose. You have not made love to a woman, no?' 

Alistair coughs to clear his throat, feeling his cheeks flush even hotter. 'Um. No.' 

'Nor a man, I presume.' 

'Maker, no! Definitely not.' 

'Fine, fine. It is not such a big deal, but if you feel that way-' 

'That's not what I,' Alistair starts, scratching at his neck with the hand that isn't linked with Zevran's. 'Of course it's not, but I- I mean, I'm not, um. I haven't really thought about… that. For me. I'm not, uh, inclined that way. I don't think.' 

'You don't sound too sure, hm?' 

'Oh, stuff it,' Alistair says, and Zevran shakes with silent laughter. 

'Very well. But you have been kissed, at least?' 

If Alistair could blush any more he might give Morrigan a run for her money in the shapeshifting department by turning into a strawberry. 'I really haven't had opportunities...' he mutters, not looking at the elf. 

'Just to be pedantic,' Zevran points out, 'you do have an opportunity right now. If you were so inclined. But, I must admit I am surprised. Really? Never? Not once?' 

'What does it matter to you?' 

'Well right now, it matters because I am extraordinarily turned on, and the fact that no one has so much as kissed those lovely lips of yours is not helping to quell the burning passion of my desire. In general? It matters as someone who appreciates kissing as the art that it is. It is like saying you have never had chocolate, or murdered someone bare handed.' 

'I worry about you.' 

'And I worry about you!' 

Alistair pinches the bridge of his nose. 'Good, we can worry about one another, then.' 

'Have you hugged someone before?' 

'Yes, Zevran, I've hugged people.' 

'Very good, just checking.' 

'Would you like a hug?' 

Zevran snorts. 'Yes, I would absolutely like a hug. And a kiss. And a good hard-' 

'I can offer a hug,' Alistair interrupts. 

'I accept.' 

'C'mere,' he says, letting go of the elf's hand and instead reaching around his shoulders to pull him close. He turns his body inward and wraps his other arm around him, feeling Zevran squeeze his own arms around Alistair's waist and pull him close. He can feel warm breaths against his collarbone, and the soft ticklish sensation of Zevran's eyelashes fluttering closed. 

The heat in Alistair's stomach grows, desire twisting with shyness. This is stupid, he thinks. Of all the stupid goddamn ways to end up in a situation like this, this definitely isn't how he ever imagined anything going. Not that anything _is_ going. He's just hot and hard and desperate with the desire to kiss and touch someone for the first stupid time and it's stupid Zevran. 

'You are thinking loudly, Alistair,' the elf murmurs, fingers tracing idle patterns against the skin of his side. The soft movements are like electricity, making him _want_. 

'This is really hard, okay?' he says, and can't help but join in when Zevran snickers. 'I didn't mean, uh.' 

'Quite understood. Hopefully we shall be rescued soon, no?' 

'If you need to, you know, relieve yourself...' Alistair suggests. 'That would be fine. I mean. I'm a Grey Warden. I've seen things.' 

'I'm glad you have seen things, at least,' Zevran replies in good humour. 'But no. It is strange. I do not know about you, but it is the contact I crave. Another person's touch, not my own. Do you agree?' 

'Yeah.' 

'I wonder again at the purpose of this trap. Perhaps these ancient Thaigs were just a bit odd.' 

'Mm,' Alistair agrees, his mind drifting anywhere but in the direction of ancient dwarven culture. The whole room is cloying and stifling, and with Zevran pressed tight against him the burning, itching desire is both lessened and that much the stronger. It feels less insistent now; but instead he can't help but think what it would feel like to kiss him, to feel his lips warm and open against his own. He knows he would feel stupid and clumsy. He doesn't mind embarrassing himself, but embarrassing himself to _Zevran_ seems like a particular affront, like serving his usual Ferelden camp stew to Orlesian royalty. 

But then. Who could it hurt? 

'…Zevran?' he ventures eventually. The elf is still touching him idly, fingers mapping out the hard lines of his stomach and dancing up his chest in light, exploratory touches. 

'Yes?' 

'If you'd like, we could kiss. A bit. For a while.' 

Pulling back a little bit, Zevran looks at Alistair questioningly for a moment and then, seeing that he's serious, he sits up entirely to kneel and throw his hands up at the stone ceiling. 'Oh, praise Andraste!' he says, and takes Alistair's face in both hands and leans in to kiss him. 

For a moment, Alistair doesn't move at all. Surprise freezes him - even if it was his idea - and he doesn't know how to react. He has no idea where to put his hands or how to move his mouth or what his tongue is for in this context. That doesn't matter yet, because the kiss is surprisingly gentle and chaste, but he knows vaguely that tongues might be involved somewhere along the process. 

Then Zevran slides one hand down to the nape of his neck and stroking his thumb through the short strands of Alistair's hair. It prompts him into some movement and he lets out a small exhale and his lips part with a low moan. He brings one hand up to tangle in Zevran's hair and the other to tug at his leathers and pull him closer. 

Zevran comes easily, sliding one leg over Alistair's hips and settling himself down on top of him. He guides the kiss, slowly teasing him and prompting Alistair to mimic his movements. 

All Alistair can see is Zevran's eyelashes and the dark skin of his nose and cheeks and it takes him several moments to realise that Zevran's eyes are closed and maybe his should be too? He lets his eyes flutter shut and suddenly everything is just sensation. Zevran nips gently at Alistair's bottom lip and sucks it into his mouth and arousal shoots through his body. He moans against the elf's warm mouth and tries to do something, anything to deepen the kiss. It _is_ clumsy, for a little bit. He bumps their teeth together and Zevran snickers against him. 

But slowly he picks up the rhythm, copying Zevran's motions. He opens up to him when he deepens the kiss, fingers tightening in his long, soft hair. 

Kissing Zevran isn't really much like anything Alistair imaged kissing to be. He's not sure what he was imagining, exactly, but he possibly hadn't factored in just how odd it might be to feel someone else's tongue teasing at his own, or to taste someone else's saliva this intimately. But it's not bad. None of it is bad. If anything, it is wonderful. 

It is more than just the kissing. It is the way that Zevran is warm and hot against his body, wriggling slightly when Alistair can't help but push his hips up in desire. It is the way that Zevran touches him - guiding touches to his neck and face, and then exploratory ones down his chest and over his shoulders. It is the slow confidence he gains at touching Zevran back. Most of his armour is in the way, but he still slides his hands down his back to pull him closer against him, still wraps his arms around him and tangles his hands in his hair. 

Then, suddenly Zevran is breaking off the kiss to mouth his way down Alistair's jaw and his neck. The sound he makes is embarrassing in how needy it is, and he actually whines when Zevran sucks a mark just below his ear, teeth nipping at him as he does so. 

'You are so good,' Zevran murmurs after a few moments. He kisses him again. 'So reactive.' He presses quick kisses to his lips between words. 'Ugh, this is torture.' 

Alistair slides his hands down to Zevran's bare thighs as the elf rolls his hips against him. He's worried he's leaving bruises with how hard he's pressing his fingers into Zevran's skin; but he can't help himself as he fights not to - maker, not to _finish_ from something as simple as kissing. 

'Ah, slow down,' he gasps out quickly. 

Zevran immediately stills against him, dropping his head down into the crook of Alistair's shoulder and groaning. He nods. 'I'm sorry,' he says sincerely. 'I'm getting carried away. I'm sorry.' 

'It’s fine,' Alistair says. 'It's all, I'm enjoying it.' He feels the elf grin against him, and his cheeks grow hot. 'Can we go back to kissing? Slowly?' 

'Yes,' Zevran murmurs. He sits up again and braces both hands against Alistair's chest to keep some distance between them. Leaning forward, he brushes his lips over Alistair's again, teasing and gentle. 

The light touch is enough to make Alistair moan again, and he closes his eyes and sinks happily into the slow kiss. The cloying sweet smell of the gas is still rolling all around them, but he doesn't care. He only cares about Zevran lightly brushing his tongue over Alistair's lips and begging entrance. Alistair parts his lips and pulls the elf down again into a deeper kiss. Zevran sighs into his mouth, and brings one hand up to stroke through Alistair's hair just as the door clicks open. 

The dog barks happily. 

'Well,' Elissa says, stealth falling away. 

Both boys break apart and look at her immediately. Alistair thinks he might feel more embarrassed if not for the gas still filling his senses and the heat pooling in his stomach. Zevran's eyes are blown black and his hair is a mess of flyaway strands. 

Elissa's eyebrows are raised almost to her hairline. 'I'll deal with these, shall I?' she asks, pointing to the pressure plates which are still seeping gas. 

'Yes, please,' Alistair says, voice strangled. 

'There's no rush,' Zevran adds as Elissa drops down to her knees at the nearest trap and quickly disarms it. A few moments later none of them are leaking gas, and both doors are wide open, dispersing the blue-grey smog. 

The Warden gives them a long look as Zevran slowly climbs off Alistair and passes him his shirt from the floor. 

'Get dressed,' she says, and turns away from them both to rush over to Missy and start cooing over her dog, checking that the gas didn't affect her. Finally, Alistair has all of his armour back on and Zevran has more or less combed his hair with his fingers back under control. 

'Uh, sorry-' Alistair starts, when she stands up and turns around again, hands on her hips. 

'Are you both okay?' she asks, interrupting him. When they both nod, she looks relieved. 'There's some nasty stuff ahead. I've disarmed most of it already.' 

'Moving on, then?' Zevran asks, and glances quickly at Alistair. Neither of them hold the other’s gaze for long, looking in opposite directions and picking up their weapons. 'Moving on!'

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [orphanghost](http://orphanghost.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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